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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29201886">What she treasures</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoNut/pseuds/ChocoNut'>ChocoNut</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Many ways to say I love you [97]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire &amp; Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Missing Scene, Passionate Sex, Season 8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 05:07:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,955</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29201886</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoNut/pseuds/ChocoNut</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>What is it about Jaime that Brienne can’t get enough of?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Many ways to say I love you [97]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1234904</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>65</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>What she treasures</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>What does she love about him?</p><p>A smile kisses her lips whenever Brienne asks herself this question. </p><p>Is it the way everything else around her diminishes into nothing when he looks at her like this? Like she’s the most beautiful woman in this world? Men have mocked her, ridiculed and shunned her, and so has Jaime in a life that feels like in another age, but the man in her bed, the man who undertook a solitary journey all the way here—is it not astonishing that he’s done it all for her?</p><p>Maybe, it isn’t. </p><p>Maybe, like her, long ago, his heart had made this decision for him. Maybe, like her, he’d realised it when choices were not his privilege, and like her, had chosen to bury it beneath duty. Or, perhaps it was the contrary, an inner voice he failed to listen to then? Whatever it was, that day at Riverrun, he wore his heart in his eyes. That tenderness, the way he caressed her with his gaze then, the way he does it now, every night and every morning—this she can never get over.</p><p>Yes, he makes her feel beautiful. Though he’s never sung verses in praise of her, she can see it when he smiles. </p><p>Her world comes to a standstill when she wakes up to those affectionate eyes; it encompasses no one but him and her, the soft rhythm of their steady breathing, the rogue lock of hair he fondly pushes off her brow, the first kiss he plants on her lips. She had dreamed of this for countless maiden years. But all those dreams, she’d given up soon after the gods denied her Renly’s love. </p><p>If only she’d known then that her true love lay elsewhere, that there would, one day, come a handsome knight who would sweep her off her feet and take her to the stars!</p><p>With every kiss, every touch, he does, indeed, take her to the stars, and he also shows her the moon, and the sun, and every other unreachable realm one could only make it to in their mind. </p><p>This break of dawn, again, he smiles down at her, the pale glow of the candle bathing his face in its radiance. That this smile has an edge of mischief, of hidden intent, has her blushing. That he leaves her blushing makes her feel like a woman, and that, she secretly relishes. His eyes linger, feast on her, and the softness intensifies into something fiery, something that leaves her nursing an ache only he can alleviate. </p><p>Men like Renly have visited her fantasies, but none like this man, none like the one who makes her feel things she’s never dreamed of. </p><p>He bends, coats her lips with light kisses—she cannot get enough of his beard tickling her. He treads gently, but when she presses her body against his, urging him to feel the ache that craves his attention, he stirs, pushes back, giving in to her pull of desire. Nothing’s more seductive than the hunger his kisses betray when he goes in deeper, the pressure of his firm chest against her soft breasts, his fingers skipping merrily along her body, stopping by, exploring her despite their familiarity with every inch of her.</p><p>She closes her eyes, holds a palm to his chest—her name, she can feel in his heartbeat, in the blood coursing through his veins. This, she had never anticipated once upon a time, and this, she will, forever, commit to her memory. That a prince would share her bed and breathe her breath is too far-fetched to believe. But it is true, as is the heat of his skin on hers, the sparks his silken touch showers all over her. </p><p>His manly scent, the slight hitch in his breath when her thighs brush his erection, the salty sweat that touches her lips when she steals a kiss in passing—these are just a handful of the million things that draw her to him. His groping fingers find her breast, tweak and tease her nipple—this thirst in him to get back in kind—all this she craves more of, all of it leaving her wet and gasping before he can even touch her there. </p><p>The way he gauges how exactly she needs to be touched—her sighs are enough, he can sense it from her fingers ruffling through his hair, from the descent they make, dragging down his back. Her pleasure is his need when his hand meets her arousal; that he is more of a giver is a pleasure in itself. </p><p>His touch where it matters, those light strokes that bring hot flushes surging up her body—</p><p>
  <em> Oh, yes, yes, he gives and he gives and he gives!  </em>
</p><p>Those fingers, they curl within her, they press into her walls, they consume her. A love song, he composes down there, and she sings to his tunes, loses herself in him. Writhing and twitching like a mare in heat, she’s like clay, moulded to his lust. No one but him has had her hot and bothered like this. A harp, she is, in his hand, to be tuned to this melody he has written for her. He plays her with skill, brings out a <em> her </em> she’s never met before, his lips able companions to the hand that wields a woman as well as it can swing a sword.</p><p>That <em> she </em> is that woman, that he lives her, breathes her, pours his heart and soul into every minute with her—this she cannot believe, yet, wills herself to. More than once, she pinches herself, and more than once, the sting reminds her this is true, that this is them.</p><p>This song, she will forever hum with him, cherish until the end of time.</p><p>Gentle kisses he covers her lips with, soft touches he calms down her shivers with, to ease her body, to prepare it for the dance that is to come. It is this softness that evens out his rough edges. Both leave her panting with anticipation. Both she craves for in equal measure.</p><p>Speaking of <em> both,</em> don’t either of them share either half of this whole?</p><p>Pleasure is a two-way trip, so what better way to begin the dance than to turn the tables on him? The slight crinkling in the corners of his eyes when she pins him down—he knows what’s coming, the spark that ignites those emeralds when she straddles his thighs—this, she thrives on. </p><p>Those narrow eyes that widen the way they do when she fondles his growing erection—now he’s the harp, and she, the musician, their tune, of course, to be jointly played. </p><p>Those barely-there whispers of her name when she rubs the pad of her thumb over the smooth pink head, they’re the beat that set the pace to her moves.</p><p>His needy grinding that pushes to the rhythm of her fingers, the golden drop that glistens in the illumination—that taste of him, she craves, leans down to partake of its intoxicating flavor. That sly grin when she licks him dry, that glint in his eye—she knows he’s waiting, for more, for her, for <em> them</em>. The way he drinks her in when she kisses him deeply, urgently. That husky <em> ‘Brienne,’ </em> when he tastes himself on her lips. The way those shaking fingers snake around her neck to pull her down—he needs her, he cannot wait. </p><p>This need, she needs; this is her pulse, the air she breathes.</p><p>The little shudder that passes between them when she teases his tip with her wet warmth. A wanton hiss he presses into her lips, when she slides her swollen folds along his shaft, when she covers him with her slick softness. </p><p>That desperate, <em> ‘Brienne,’ </em>when those eyes melt into liquid emeralds.  </p><p>That grunt that strikes the walls then hits her ears when she slides into his length. That low moan when he watches her swallow him. He’s the fuel to the fire within her, the flame to her candle. Never has she felt more womanly than when she rocks away against him, takes him deep within her.</p><p>The fingers that massage her breasts, firmly rolling her nipples between rough calloused fingers, the same fingers that reach between them, dancing to her quickening rhythm, building up the pressure with her mounting intensity—those fingers, she never wants off her body. They scream of gluttony, and that is a sin she’ll gladly pay the price for with him. Hands pressed on his chest, she bounces on his cock, hot and hectic, whilst he makes frantic love to her. </p><p>He’s starving; she cannot get enough of him—they’re the cause of this pain and they’re each other’s remedy. No inhibitions remain between them, just primal instincts that push them forth.</p><p>Faster, deeper, she rides him, and he rides with her, meeting her half-way, promising her the moon yet again.</p><p>She bends, and he steals a kiss; buried deep within it is an, ‘<em>I love you.’ </em> Never has he said those words aloud, but with every touch, he screams it out, with every gaze, it’s out there. </p><p>Her knees clamped against him, she keeps going, keeps up the onslaught of thrusts and moans. His cock growing rigid inside her, engorged with his need and aching for release—she’d never thought she would, one day, bring a man to this! That sound he makes when she sets her pace—it is something that’s between man and lion, something that makes its presence at the base of her spine and deep within her cunt. A lion on the battlefield, a lion in bed, he’s her lion, just like his golden counterpart that adorns the sword he once gave her.</p><p>
  <em> It will always be yours… </em>
</p><p>The words are still fresh in her mind, and more than them, it is the way he uttered them. It was his heart talking that day just like it was his heart he was talking about. Ignorance or sense of duty, whatever kept them apart then, now that wall has come down for good. What remains now is just him and her and what lies between.    </p><p>In an intimate embrace, she squeezes around him, caressing him, holding him back, her soft flesh kissing every inch of his taut length. Again, there’s that look in his eyes, like he’s fully consumed with the desire to never let this moment pass. He lurches to capture a nipple when she slams down on him, tugs at it as he thrusts powerfully against her rhythm. She whimpers at the sweet jolt of pain, but more than the flash of his teeth, it is this edge of frustration she’s walking along. This need in him to come with her—she shares it, too. This yearning for her to compliment and complete him—she craves for it, too. </p><p>The way his cock throbs, and with it, <em> all </em> of her.</p><p>Her name touches his lips, and with the kiss he takes hers in, mingles with the soft <em> ‘Jaime,’ </em> she can’t keep away from. </p><p>He is hers and she is his; which is who, they cannot make out.</p><p>The dance is over for now—just for now, the fondness in his smile telling her that just like this wonderful day, another will begin, and another after that. </p><p>This affection, she’d die for, him, she’d kill for. </p><p>The gushing warmth of his “I love you,” that fills her ears—yes, this is real.</p><p>This golden moment, she will never forget. And, of course, the shine that lights up his eyes when she proclaims her love for him.</p><p>That she is his beauty, and he, her Oathkeeper—this, Brienne treasures, and always will.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A little companion piece, a Brienne POV to "Little things" I whipped up on an impulse. Thanks to those who suggested it to me!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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